Page 60 of His To Erase
His eyes find me instantly. No nod. Just that slow, deliberate once-over like he’s re-memorizing every inch of me like I’m a fucking painting he commissioned.
I walk over anyway. Hips swaying a little too much on purpose—because if I’m going to play this game, I’m going to win by being petty.
His grin deepens.
“You always this happy to see me?” he asks, like we’re picking up mid-conversation.
I glance down, and there’s a black box on the table tied with a sleek ribbon. The kind of box that screams money and manipulation.
“Are you always this dramatic?” I flick the ribbon with one finger. “Showing up out of nowhere with a mystery box like it’s Valentine’s Day.”
He shrugs, all ease. This man must think the world bends to his timing.
“And yet… you’re still standing here. Looking at me like I’m exactly what you’ve been waiting for.”
It takes everything in me not to roll my eyes, but I don’t give him the satisfaction.
“I was just in the neighborhood,” he says, casually as he lifts his glass to his lips. “Thought I’d stop by. Make sure you haven't forgotten about me.”
I arch a brow. “That sounds like a you problem.”
His smile flashes—all teeth. But there’s something behind it now. Something darker. Something that didn’t used to be there.
He gestures toward the box like it’s a goddamn centerpiece. “You gonna open it, or just keep admiring the bow?”
I flick my gaze between it and his smug face.
“Haven’t decided if it’s for me… or if I’m just the lucky bartender you’re using to hand it off to your actual date.”
His grin doesn’t falter. If anything, it sharpens.
“If it was for someone else, sweetheart…” He leans forward, voice lower now—quieter, but designed to crawl straight under my skin. “You wouldn’t be the one still standing here.”
My eyes drop to the box and I stare at it like it might grow teeth.
“Is it gonna explode?”
He laughs. That smug, low kind of laugh that always means trouble. He’s never bought me a gift before. It’s only been dinner and flirting this whole time.What is he up to now?
“Only if you ask nicely.”
I sit, dropping into the booth across from him like it’s a power move instead of a surrender.
I unwrap the ribbon without looking at him—just to spite the way I can feel his eyes dragging over my every move.
The box creaks open and it’s a bracelet. I can tell just by the box that its designer—matte black, gold lettering I don’t recognize but probably should. The bracelet inside catches the bar light and glitters, with a thin platinum chain and a single diamond at the center.
It’s beautiful.
Which makes me hate it more, because he’s never been this persistent. Hell, I don’t even wear jewelry.
But that’s the thing about men like him. They don’t need permission to decide who you are. They just dress you up like you already belong to them.
I close the lid politely, but not fast enough to be rude.
“Cute,” I say. “But unnecessary.”
His gaze sharpens a fraction. “It made me think of you when I was out of town.”
